


Perdidit in Verba

by colorfulCheshire



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alien Invasion, Ambiguous Main Character, Ancestor AU, Androgyny, Captivity, Gen, Language Barrier, Non-Romantic Relationship, Other, Space Pirates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 20:19:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1578233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colorfulCheshire/pseuds/colorfulCheshire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You were captured during the invasion and are now forced to work for these terrifying aliens that you can't understand.  But lost out in space, there's nothing you can do but to keep your head down and hands busy with work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perdidit in Verba

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally meant to be a short imagine-post for [imaginedualscar](http://imaginedualscar.tumblr.com/) but then it turned into this. Right now the character is ambiguous (both in character and gender), and I plan to keep it that way, but that may or may not change if I add more (which I would like to).

It’s been about two weeks since the attack, and you know that you’re lucky to be alive, but you still can’t help but worry over your fate. The strange aliens had invaded so effectively within hours, and you had been wrenched from your entire way of life so suddenly, that you were quite sure that you would wake at any moment to find that this had all been a sickeningly realistic nightmare. You know that’s not the case, however, as your sleeping mind would have contrived a fate far worse than being a janitor on some alien spaceship that had left Earth and your home far behind in what you assumed was its path for further conquest.

You’ve just finished sweeping, mopping, and waxing three entire damned hallway floors, the dark stone practically mirroring the tall walls and mounted violet-tinted lights when your “boss” turns the corner and catches your attention. While you generally follow the orders of whoever’s around (because you don’t want to know what happens if you don’t and those horns all look terrifying), this alien is the main one who assigns you your tasks as he seems to be the only one proficient in non-verbal orders.

You recall being terrified when you were first forced onto the ship, your arms chained behind your back as a sole grey-skinned alien led you past a horde of others and lower in the ship to a hallway lined with an array of doors in differing levels of secure. You realized the reason for this as you were roughly led down the hallways, catching glimpses of strange creatures through the bars or glass panes on some of the doors. Your shackles were removed and you were shoved into your own cell, the door just a grate of iron bars, and the horned-alien behind you began speaking as he locked the door and shoved a small box through the bars, letting it drop to the ground with a thud before leaving you alone to listen to the quiet noises of your new neighbors.

Slowly, carefully, you crawled over to the box and picked it up before retreating to the far corner of your cell where you felt far less exposed. Turning it over, you didn’t recognize any of the strange symbols, but there was a poorly depicted human on the front, with yellow eyes like the aliens, skin far too orange, and a shark-like grin for a smile. It was holding a plate of something akin to a shapeless loaf of bread and you realized that this box likely contained food (or at least you hoped It was food).

You had dropped the box to your side and let your head lull back against the wall. While it had been hours since the invasion started, it was only then that you were hit with the weight of your reality. You were locked in a small cell on a spaceship that was likely going to take you from your home planet very soon (not that home was an option anymore with the invasion), you were being held captive by dangerous-looking aliens, you couldn’t understand a word that these aliens said to you, you had no idea whether this supposed food was even edible for humans, and you could do nothing but sit and wait, too scared to potentially piss off these creatures. Also, you were alone. To your knowledge, you had only seen one human being led onto each ship, likely to prevent communication when your captors didn’t even seem to understand you.

That had been two weeks ago, as far as you had been counting, though you’re sure that you’ve missed a few days due to the lack of physical day and night out in space (that, and you’ve gathered from the night-time invasion of the major countries and your drastic shift in a sleep schedule, that these aliens are nocturnal), and you still couldn’t understand a word of what was being said to you when someone _did_ decide to use verbal commands. That always seemed to rile them up, but for the most part, they seemed to refrain from violence and merely got someone else (likely a lower rank) to physically instruct you on what they needed done.

So you are actually grateful for your normal overseer who almost never says anything to you but a short, sharp clicking noise with a languid ‘A’ thrown in between something like a click and a growl. You’re not sure if this is a name or just a way to get your attention, but you’ve learned to look up when he calls it. He’s smaller than the other aliens, and his ears aren’t webbed-fins like many (but not all) of the others you had seen. The trimmings on his uniform around the shirt pocket and sleeves are a dull teal, and seeing as he’s the one in charge of you, you wonder if he’s lower in rank than the others. It had taken you sometime to figure out that like human organizations, these aliens had ranks, but after a few days of having nothing to do but clean and observe the aliens when they weren’t looking, you think that you’re starting to catch on, if only a bit. You still wonder if horn-shape has anything to do with it.

Your “boss” had horns that grew back from the top of his skull before jutting sharply downward behind him and zigzagging back up again like a crooked ‘N’ hanging from a long pole. You can never quite keep yourself from staring at them when he addresses you, and now, he’s snapping a yellow-clawed hand to get your attention again. You almost bow your head in apology, but you don’t want to keep him waiting and merely follow him once he turns back down the hallway, carrying your odd swiffer-like mop with you.

The two of you stop by a supply closest and he loads a basket of a cleaning supplies while you refill the fluid-tank on the strange-mop. It’s a lot more efficient than similar tools you’ve used in your apartment, and you have to say it’s a lot easier than carrying around a bucket full of dirty water and an equally dirty mop. When you’re finished, you take the basket he’s loaded for you and follow him into a lift that takes you to the second-highest stop. You haven’t been this way yet, and as glass doors slide open, you take note that everything looks a lot nicer up here, more formal almost.

It’s a rather short hallway, looping around the lift to the rest of the floor, and there’s only three doors – two on one wall and one on the other. Your boss stops in front of the single door and knocks. Someone answers from the other end and he enters, motioning you in behind him. Inside, you note that this has to be the nicest room in the entire ship, or at least the nicest one that you’ve had to clean before, and while you’re still not great at these ranks, you’re pretty sure that’s the captain of this ship sitting in a plush-looking armchair beside some bookshelves in the corner, looking comfortable in a black sleeveless top and a large book in a many-ringed hand.

He glances up at the two of you and you notice two jagged pale-violet scars running from his jaw, up over his nose, and stopping after marring his brow just beneath his hairline. You swallow thickly, now positive that this alien with a sharp glare is definitely in charge of this ship, and if he’s not, you’re not sure if you want to know who is.

Your boss says something brief and leaves you alone to clean, alone in a room with a predator-like alien sitting calmly with a book. He quickly dismisses you, however, turning back to his pages, and you feel your breath return to you now that you don’t feel like you’re a fraction away from potentially being gutted where you stand - those lightning-bolt horns look like they could do a lot of damage on their own. You tear your eyes away so that you can begin cleaning and stop thinking about the many ways that this guy could maim and/or kill you.

This room isn’t actually all that bad – far tidier than some of the other officers’ quarters. All that you really needed to do was to straighten up the desk, dust and polish the furniture, and clean the floor. You’ve finished everything but mopping, all in diligent silence as you steeled your attention away from the reading alien, when said alien says something quite suddenly, breaking your focus on the task at hand. It takes you a moment to turn in response, but when you do, he’s looking over his book at you expectantly. For the life of you (hopefully not literally), you can’t imagine what he’s trying to say, and when you don’t answer, he repeats himself.

This time, you catch that familiar click and long ‘A’ between a click and growl and you realize how _different_ his voice is from your boss’. At least, you hope that this is the same word and you merely couldn’t recognize it in his voice. You point to yourself and he nods, repeating the sound slowly.

Is he-? He knows you can’t understand him, right? Maybe he’s forgotten?

Regardless, you’d rather not risk making him mad and you gather up your strength to try to mimic the sound. Your unused voice cracks terribly, startling you to a stop before you try again, though you know it sounds entirely wrong. You glance over at him nervously in the following silence, trying not to visibly fidget. With his predatory build, you’re not sure if you want to appear as vulnerable and tiny as you feel.

He sighs loudly, the burst of air carrying a low but (hopefully) non-threatening growl with it, and marks his page before setting the book down on the small table beside him. He motions you forward with one of his ringed fingers, and with pit of anxiety pooling in your stomach, you approach him on shaky legs until you’re standing within arm’s reach to the side of the chair. From this close, you can see where his coal hair turns violet in the front, something you had originally mistaken for a trick of the dark lighting, and you briefly wonder if these aliens dye their hair like humans. You can also see that where his head-fins are torn, something you didn’t notice earlier thanks to the distraction of the vibrant gold studs attached to the less-damaged lower sections.

He starts to repeat the word again, drawing out each sound with exaggerated lip movements, and while you’re paying close attention to the sounds and motions, you can’t help but to notice the shark-like teeth behind thin lips. He doesn’t stop with that word however, and turns to point to his book with another word, something like a rumbling click with a brief ‘oh’ sound. He continues, pointing behind him to an empty space on the bookshelf, but the sound he makes is something you’re not even sure how to describe other than completely lacking vowels, and you’re not sure how he made that sound without biting into his tongue.

However, you don’t contemplate this long and move to take the book from the table, returning it to the shelf quickly to avoid lingering. You want to go back to cleaning and not stay in the position to anger this guy due to your lack of vocal capabilities, but you know it would be disrespectful to turn your back on him without awaiting further instruction, so you return to the side of the chair and bow your head carefully, awaiting any further tasks.

He says something else, his tone softer than what you’ve grown used to on this ship, and you blink up at him in surprise, mouth agape in curiosity before you catch yourself and snap it shut to avoid looking much stupider than you already feel. However, he repeats the sound again, a low but quick rumble of a growl with a soft ‘uh’, followed by a click and a short “I”. Carefully, you try to repeat this, and while you still fail miserably at replicating such alien sounds, you find that you quite like how this word sounds as it’s at least easier than the previous three words.

He nods, but the look on his face is far from satisfied, although he says nothing else. You start to turn back to your previous task when a flash of grey and gold moves in your peripheral and there’s suddenly a cool, strong grip encompassing your forearm. You freeze, stuttering out a squeak of surprise, as you are pulled backwards, the motion too strong to fight, but steady enough to keep you from sprawling into the side of the chair and the floor.

His hand is around your wrist, and you’re pretty sure that there’s going to be a faint bruise, but the touch is lighter now that he’s not pulling you anymore and at least it’s not broken. He’s pulled your torso lower, your face now level with his, and one of his hands is now grasping your cheeks between two clawed fingers. He sounds out the word again slowly, shaking your face impatiently when your eyes stray from his lips and terrifying teeth to equally unnerving violet irises.

You feel like you’re face to face with a jaguar, and you’re not sure how you manage to get any sound out at all with how tight your throat feels from fear, but you’re think that your next attempt is even better than the last, although you still can’t get the stranger, more-animal noises right. His brows furrow, the two scars causing one to lower at a sharper angle on one side, giving him an almost quizzical expression.

He tugs you forward again, and you resist for a moment, not wanting to be thrown into him, but he pulls you forward with ease, his hand slipping from your wrist to your hip to pull you closer and you have to bite your lip not to yelp. You end up sitting on his lap, two fingers held tightly in his grip, and a pressure against your throat from his other hand, two sharp points resting dangerously in the dip of your throat. You’re shaking as he pulls your fingers to his own throat, holding them there carefully as he again repeats the word.

This time, you realize that most of the sound is coming from deep within his throat and not from his mouth, the vibrations strong from his upper chest and traveling through your two fingers that he has pressed there. You notice that his gills (or you think they’re gills) flutter lightly with each clicking sound, something that you’ve never been close enough to notice on the other finned-aliens.

His touch is unnervingly cool against your hand and throat, and while you’re trying to remove the thought that he could rip out your throat at any moment, you try again to repeat the sound. You can’t get your throat to rumble like his, however, and you end up sounding pretty stupid, you think, like some child pretending to be a dog. However, he seems satisfied enough that he nods, and then brings up the first thing he said to you, the word used to get your attention by your boss. You swallow thickly as you feel the strange vibrations in his throat and then try to repeat them.

By the time he lets you get back to your cleaning, he’s taught you the word that you assume means ‘book’ and an odd phrase that makes him smirk when you finally get it correctly. You’re positive that it’s something stupid or demeaning, but you’re a slave to these fierce aliens with no way to communicate so there’s nothing you could do even if you were offended.

As you’re collecting your cleaning supplies into the basket, he speaks again, but when you turn to look, you notice that his attention is on a handheld device that many of the aliens use for communication. He glances up at you and waves a dismissive hand as if to say that he’s not talking to you. It’s hardly any time at all until there’s a knock on his door and your boss enters with a curt nod to the captain.

You gather your supplies in your hand and make your way over to the door, but stop when the captain calls for your attention again. You suppose that the word is addressing you specifically, whatever it means, as your boss looks to you immediately with curiosity instead of glancing up to him. You turn quickly, bowing your head once before looking back to the now-standing alien. He’s much taller than you had guessed when he was sitting down, towering a foot over your boss and two over you. You can’t help but to shrink back a bit.

He’s looking at you expectantly, one eyebrow raised, and you realize that he wants you to say something. The only thing that can come to mind is the phrase he taught you and you try that in stilted syllables and noises, feeling far more nervous with two sets of eyes watching you. The captain nods, that odd smirk back on his face, and you notice that his fins flare out a bit as he seems to stand taller. He waves you off, and you bow your head briefly before turning to quickly follow your boss out of the room.

You notice, however, that the teal-eyed alien is snickering quietly as you follow him back to the lift and now you’re sure that you’ve just been taught some embarrassing or demeaning phrase. And while there’s nothing you can do about it, as you’re led to your next assignment, you can’t help but to feel a little indignant.


End file.
